“I’d much rather sleep in my own bed and teach younger
knuckleheads how to go out and get dirty,” he concludes.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I tell him.
He gives me a look, like he’s about to divulge something
more than the always happy, always positive front he always
puts on for me, but then he seems to think better of it. Nothing
to be gained from opening that particular can of worms, I
guess, but for once I’d love to have an open, honest
conversation about how XP has changed just about everything
in our lives. I’m the reason he can’t follow his dreams
anymore, and we both know it.
“So what’s up?” he asks instead.
I take a deep breath and then let forth a fast stream of
words. I figure that way he has less of a chance to get a word
in edgewise, which translates to less of a chance of his saying
no. “I was wondering if I could go play my new graduation
present at the train station tonight?”
It comes out like this: I w a s w o n d e r i n g i f I c o u l d g o p l a y m yn e w
g r a d u a t i o n p r e s e n t a t t h e t r a i n s t a t i o n t o n i g h t?
I add a huge smile at the end, meant to convey: I am a
competent, confident high school graduate now (with twenty-
four college credits!). I am fully capable of walking half a mile
down the road and playing my guitar for any late-night
commuters who happen to be around. Which will probably be
no one, but still. I already checked, and Fred, the station
manager, will be there, and you guys have known each other
since you were a kid so I will be safe, I promise. PLEASE
DON’T SUGGEST COMING WITH ME.
My dad’s face falls like a ruined soufflé, and he taps his
watch. I honestly don’t know what kind of horrible outcome
he’s imagining might befall me if I venture outside without
him—probably we’ve watched way too many horror movies
over the years and his mind is in overdrive—but our sleepy
little town has, like, a zero percent crime rate. I’ll be fine. I
know he doesn’t want to agree, but he can’t quite come up